


Bleeding Love

by lapetitemort20



Series: Bleeding Love [1]
Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: 3 + 1 Things, Angst, Author has no idea what she’s doing, Excessive use of commas dashes and italics, F/M, Fix-it Fic kind of, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Gateway BDSM?, Gratuitous Smut, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Idiots in Love, Light Spanking, Masturbation, Menstruation Kink, Mutual Pining, NSFW, Period Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Praise Kink, Pwp gone wrong! Where did this plot come from???, Sex, Shameless Smut, Smut, Spanking, Surpriseeeeee, do not read in public!, gratuitous sex, happy ever after
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-08-07
Packaged: 2020-05-14 17:34:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19278112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lapetitemort20/pseuds/lapetitemort20
Summary: My heart's crippled by the vein, that I keep on closingYou cut me open and IKeep bleeding, keep, keep bleeding loveOr 3 times she bleeds for him and him for her and 1 time she doesn't





	1. The First Time to End All First Times

**Author's Note:**

  * For [falsettodrop](https://archiveofourown.org/users/falsettodrop/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please be kind! This is my first fanfic posting ever! I understand this kink might not be for everyone, but hey, you do you. 
> 
> I feel a little weird writing RPF but these two are so freaking hot I can’t help myself ** EDIT: I totally understand they are real people and I completely respect them as individuals and the amazing role models that they are. FYI I am not projecting any of my desires on them, they (and their stunning chemistry) just happen to fit into what I want to write about. **
> 
> All spelling and grammar mistakes are mine as I don’t have a beta. Any suggestions, constructive criticism and prompts are welcome!
> 
> This is for @falsettodrop who has inspired me with her smut. I love angst too but I’m not brave enough to attempt that just yet. Smut seems like a perfectly acceptable place to start ha.

She can’t remember how it started. They were due to meet one of his friends and a bunch of other people for a birthday celebration but got carried away making out. For over three months they finally got hot and heavy on tour without actually doing the deed. They hadn’t even gone down on each other yet. But what’s three months compared to their 21-year foreplay?

Tonight however, feels different. He doesn’t want to wait anymore, and to be honest neither does she.

There was just the tiny problem of still being on her period though. It was maybe her third or fourth day, so it wasn’t like she was bleeding out. So here they are, her - straddling him - dressed only in a blush lace bra and matching g-string, grinding down on him as if her life depended on it.

“Take it out,” his voice low and desperate.

She stops rocking against his erection, unsure if she heard right. “What?”

“This...” he slips his fingers underneath her panties, brushing against her heat and gives her tampon string a little tug.

She sucks in a sharp breath at his bold action, her entire body exploding with want and fire. How did he know? But of course he did. He knew her body better than anyone. They’d been skating around their physical relationship for months, if not years, is this really how he wants it?

She pauses, then whispers, “Are you sure?”

She knows somehow that this first time would be the one to end all first times, wanting to do it right. And yet, here he is, this stunning specimen of a man, chiselled in all the right places, throbbing and stiff in the one place that mattered; he _wants_  her. He wants her here. He wants her now. Like this.

“I can’t wait anymore,” he takes her mouth and kisses her lustfully, palming her ass, already pulling off her underwear like a man starved.

The truth is she is fucking turned on. She’d never done this before, with anyone - have sex while menstruating, because she was always too sensitive, crampy or bloated. But he is hungry for her. Her best friend, who she always thought never looked at her that way except on the ice until a few months ago, not only desires her, but does so in the basest, rawest, most primal way possible.

How can she resist? Even if she couldn’t have his tongue buried deep within her tonight bringing her to the edge of ecstasy, she has a feeling that his cock will be more than satisfactory, if all those years of feeling his considerable length pressed up against her was anything to go by.

She decides quickly. His delicious mouth would have to wait to taste her. At least it would give them both something to look forward to.

“Okay,” she nods shyly. She can’t get rid of her bra fast enough before his wet mouth is on her breasts, tugging expertly on her already hard nipples with his lips and teeth, panting against her chest. They’d done _this_ before, that’s for sure, and she can’t get enough of it.

Without overthinking it, her hands slide down her body and find the offensive tampon string, but she barely needs to pull it out - her cunt was already soaked, more from the anticipation of what is about to happen than the red flow of her shedding womb. This _is_ happening, she thrills in her arousal, not even remotely curious about where her tampon lands.

“I don’t want to bleed all over your bed,” she worries, biting her lip.

He flips her over onto her back, his boxers already half off. “I don’t fucking care,” he growls. “I want you”.

Well, shit. If she didn’t know it before, she knows it now. She can’t see his rigid cock bobbing between her legs as she looks into his eyes, the heat and electricity between them promising to combust. He twines one of his hands with hers and places it above her head, as he slowly lines himself up against her sopping wet opening with his other hand, flicking his fingers to touch her there. He licks her mouth as he breathes out, “You’re so wet for me, baby”.

Yes, yes, she is. _Yes_ , is all she can think and moan when he brings the head of his cock and rubs it against her slippery centre to lubricate himself. _Yes_ , is all she can affirm when he glides his hard length back and forth her traitorous pussy, giving away the fact she’s wanted this since forever. And _yes_ is all she sees when her eyes roll back, the pressure of him unintentionally making her eyes flutter and her head loll onto his mattress, as he slides into her, _inch by fucking murderous inch_ , as they both groan into each other’s mouths, and bite each other’s lips, at the feeling of him filling her, and - finally, finally, after what feels like an eternity - bottoming out. Then he takes a long shaky breath and stills as he waits for her to adjust to him as their heavy breathing mingles in the stillness of his room.

_Fuck_. This is how I die, she thinks.

He is thicker than she had anticipated, or perhaps it is the sensitivity of being on her period. She feels him all, pulsing and bare against her walls, and she nearly orgasms at that dizzying thought, his balls pressing against her, his weight on her clit, her clenching his girth. Whatever it is, he feels huge and rock hard within her, as he starts to pump shallowly - slowly and languidly - delaying his own gratification, only to pull out all the way and wait again at her entrance. 

“Come back,” she moans lewdly as her eyes flit open, feeling the loss of him so keenly. “I need you inside me,” and she wraps her strong legs around his beautiful ass, giving him a nudge with her foot. She doesn’t even care about the blood now. She’ll happily bleed for him if it means he would fuck her night and day. How did she do without _this_? How did she do without _him_?

“Uh uh,” he holds off, studying her face, wanting to drive her a little crazy for the years of blue balls he’s had to endure, but fuck if he can hang on for much longer; after all, he’s already waited a lifetime for this. He can't believe it, but she's taut and sensitive, and writhing beneath him like a wanton whore even before anything has happened.  

“Shhhh...” he stills her as he brings his other hand to catch hers, pinning both her arms above her head. He teases the head of his cock into her just a little with a slight snap of his powerful hips as she whimpers into his mouth and rolls her hips unbidden.

“I want you to look at me when I fuck you, baby,” is all he has to say.

She nods and bites her lip, swollen from their kissing, the anticipation winding her up so tight.

And then their dance begins. She almost sobs with relief when he pushes obscenely into her again, _so so deep, so so delicious._

He slowly starts to find a rhythm, hitting that same intense friction from when he first entered her tight pussy. If she was wet before, she’s flooded now. He can hear the sounds of their filthy coupling as he pounds her, balls deep - at first with gentle purpose, but soon pistoning _deep deep deep so deep_ , so _hard_ and so _fast_ that she’s fucking swearing and moaning all the while looking him right in the eyes, telling him how big he is, how much she wants him, how good and hard he feels, _don’t you dare stop, don't you dare fucking stop baby_ , and _oh god how fucking close she is._  

And she is. So embarrassingly close. But so is he. He’s panting and grunting in her ear, his mouth sucking, licking and biting at her pulse point, telling her how tight her pussy feels, how his cock is made for her, how _I’m going to make you come so good for me baby_ , and _god damn why did we wait so long to do this_? At this, his hips stutter and his rhythm goes erratic. He needs this release as much as she does.

“Say my name,” he demands, his eyes flashing, jaw set with determination, battering into her harder, one of her legs thrown over his shoulder so he can fuck her even deeper. There is nothing gentle about him now. 

So that’s what he wants. To know that he’s marked her for good. Well now he’s got her body - all of it, not just her legs - sweat, tears and _blood_.

“Scott...” she grunts, in between his thrusts. She keeps saying his name, punctuated by guttural sounds, soft moans and sloppy kisses. It sounds like a confession, an admission made true. Then she lifts her gyrating hips, her thighs slick with her desire mixed with a little blood, a metallic tang filling the air, meeting his ardour with her own fire, their bodies slamming hard against the other.

“Say mine,” she orders, wanting to claim him as well, as she snakes her hand down to cup and roll his balls between her fingers and tugs on them urgently. 

He’s surprised, turned on as fuck, but he complies, making a mental note to revisit this later. He drives his cock into her, over and over again, hissing her name as he pushes more weight against her pelvis, grinding circles down on her clit. Then she’s crying out that she is _going to come now, now, now, oh Scott, I’m coming_ , and tumbles into oblivion, whilst he can hold his release no longer feeling her body arch beneath him, her wrecked voice gasping, her hands in his hair, and her walls shuddering and clenching around him.

So this is what the French mean by ‘la petite mort’, he thinks, as he pumps into her _once, twice, three more times_ and explodes inside her, moaning breathlessly, his come mingling with her blood. What a mess they’re making, in more ways than one.

He’s already kissing her and touching her body ardently, whispering words she can’t even articulate when they both finally gain some sense of consciousness of what they’ve just done.

“Was that alright?” she asks in a small voice, suddenly unsure.

His eyes open, as he nuzzles his nose against her neck, what’s always been his happy place. “God, Tess...don’t you know how fucking mind-blowing that was? You -, this -”

She makes a sound, she’s smiling he thinks. “It was kind of earth shattering” she says, playing along, seeing he hasn’t found all his words yet either. She turns serious, “But we weren’t able to do everything, other things...because...well,” as her hands find their way to his velvet cock coated in her drying blood, and he’s already half hard from the realisation of their explicit act and the promise of more.

She’s going to be the death of him, but it wouldn’t be such a bad way to go out. “You _are_ everything. Besides, there’s plenty more to do. I’m not letting you off _that_ easy,” he rolls her over so she’s sitting on top of him, running his hands down her perfect breasts and abs, splaying them at her hips the way he does when they dance together.  

“Oh yeah?” she lifts her eyebrow in curiosity, as she rolls her hips indecently. “Like this?” she licks her lips and gives her hair a suggestive toss. It’s funny how crossing this line in the dirtiest way obliterates any inhibitions she might have had. She can’t believe it but she’s ready to go _again_.

She’s not the only one.

“Ride me, baby. I want to watch you come for me again,” he rasps.

And she does, loudly and lasciviously, two more times that night, birthday party be damned. There is more than enough to celebrate right here.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it’s kink, any thoughts?


	2. In Every Beautiful Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fall out and the fall in.
> 
> Chapter title is taken from a line of a poem by Caitlyn Siehl (also incorporated into the third last paragraph).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...I tried to write some semblance of a plot, but I ended up with more smut. And some fluff. Maybe more fluff than smut - you decide. 
> 
> Thank you to @ExcuseMeMsTessa for being a wonderful beta and @falsettodrop for encouraging me to flesh out this story! And to all of you who commented in the last chapter, you are amazing x

With this sudden evolution of their relationship - who were they kidding, really - the floodgates opened. He was like a man possessed, making up for lost time.

Sex with him, she discovers, is everything she imagined it would be and then some. What you see on the ice? Ratchet that up by 200% and that’s what you get. Explosive, selfless, graceful, fiery, and always surprising. And she’s known him inside out for over two decades.

Since that urgent and carnal first encounter, they’ve replaced their maddening slow burn with a magnetic force that seems unstoppable. It’s in every touch, every look. It’s every smouldering gaze, every lingering caress they had ever given each other on the ice - _hell_ , and off too - made real.

It’s in the way she moves above him, undulating with the sinuous grace of a cat, teasing him rhythmically and mercilessly to the edge of the chasm, then slowing right down to a glacial pace in order to deny him his release, except she’s burning so badly for it too.

It’s in the way he enters her from behind, one possessive arm winding around her body and another tugging sharply at her hair while he bucks up steadily into her; finishing her off by fucking her relentlessly into the bed, their moans countering each other’s.

It’s in the way he devours her moist cunt with a greed matched only by the way she hungrily licks, sucks and swallows his beautiful cock so far down her throat to equal the pace he’s set, alternating between lapping at her clit and rimming her ass while fucking her with his fingers, until she’s shaking in ecstasy and milking him desperately in thick, creamy stripes, and of all sanity.

If he’s a man obsessed, she is a woman devoted. She’s right there with him, present, together, matching his every stroke with her own. _Partners_ \- finally - in the way everyone thought they have been, or should have been, all this time.

Her mind reels at this new physical aspect of their connection, so long denied, existing only on ice and in the abstract, yet now irrevocably forged through time, heartache, trust - the breaking of it too - as well as failure and victory. It feels almost predestined that they should end up here. 

Even so, there’s a niggling doubt that remains. What was it they said (whoever _they_ are) about the candle burning brightest before it dies? Did that mean that he won’t want her after they’ve exhausted all the oxygen in the atmosphere?

She knows her heart might not be able to take it if he didn’t, and her body, the one he has claimed _again_ and _again_ with his fervent lovemaking, would break.

Then she thinks back to waking up after that first night together and she knows that the worry is needless - that it’s every fear of hers rearing its ugly head, playing on the confusion and anxiety of all those years past. They’ve changed. This is them _now_.

It was still dark when she had been roused by his tender kisses and gentle tracing of his tongue along her ribs and underside of her breasts. They had gone three very vigorous rounds that night, each more intense than the last. She was exquisitely sore - there was something about investing every inch of her body in order to chase the ultimate high with him. Those kind of climaxes were of the Olympic gold medal winning variety, even if she does say so herself.

But right then, his soft caresses were a juxtaposition to his urgent roughness from before. Like a balm to her skin that’s been scorched by desire, it was as if time was slowing down to this one moment. One instant. One heart beat.

Her sleepy sigh signalled to him that she had stirred, just barely, and his lips lazily kissed a line up her sternum, sucking the skin along the graceful column of her neck, and arrived to find her eager mouth in the dark. He would know them anywhere after a litany of near misses, he thought, as he parted her lips with his tongue, barely touching hers, gently skimming her lips.

She moaned, wanting to deepen the kiss, but every time she moved in closer, he pulled apart. This wasn’t taunting or playful, it was simply every nerve ending in both their bodies zinging alive with the electricity the two of them generated.

“If you woke me just to tease me, so help you...” she murmured, her voice husky with sleep and desire.

He had positioned himself over her, his weight on his arms and shook his head slowly, as if he was trying to discern dream from reality. “No teasing, baby. I just wanted to touch you.”

In the quietude before dawn, his eyes were dark and potent with something that looked like love. _Was that how he had always looked at her?_

“Not sick of me yet, Moir?” she teased softly, as she brushed away a curl of his hair that fell between their foreheads. It was as much from her own insecurity as it was to ease the significance of every line they had crossed. There was no turning back now. They both knew it.

But it wasn’t the time for jesting.

“I just need to know this is real...this is more,” something in his voice broke.

Her heart had cracked wide open at his ability to be unguarded and fearless right at that moment. More? _Fuck_. How much _more_ could making love with the only man who ever captured her heart be?

“Then touch me...” she dared to breathe out her permission, the one she had withheld for so long, as her fingers lightly traced up his biceps, his neck, scratching at his scalp, then down his sinewed back as he almost buckled in the headiness she invoked. “Show me how real this is.”

So he did. The tips of his fingers danced over her porcelain skin, but she wasn’t a cold, fragile thing to be held. She was heat and blood, vulnerability and strength, power and grace. He nestled his nose into her neck, breathing in her scent - a mix of her own tart sweetness and the musky remnants of their prior coupling - feeling her skin erupt into blooms of goosebumps wherever his touch trailed. She could feel it too, this current crackling between them.

It felt like he was contemplating her in worship, his fingers ghosting up and down her body, and soon - yet nearly not soon enough - he was using not just his hands, but his entire body to graze against her.

The curl of his too-long hair, the line of his jaw, the hard planes of his chest, the cut of his hips, the silken weight of his stiffening cock, the hard won muscles of his thighs. The pressure was light, delicate even, but every single movement felt as though he had struck a match and set a spark off, kindling each heightened nerve across every fibre of her being.

He was taking his time with her. Committing every single inch of her to memory in case it _wasn’t real_. He slid his nose, fluttered his eyelashes, trailed his tongue, grazed his teeth and hovered butterfly-light kisses on her secret spots. The ones she didn’t even know of...nor did he, before this night.

The one just behind her ear lobe ( _god_ , she could have come undone just with him sucking her here). The scalp above the base of her neck (was that a mewl she released when he scraped his teeth and nipped her gently there?). The sweep of her spine (would it be so wrong if she wanted him to explore even further south?). The dip between her collarbones (how was this _even_ an erogenous zone?). The pit of her underarms, the crook of her elbows, her wrists and knuckles ( _yes_ , _yes_ , and _yesssss_ ). The crease where her inner thighs meet her pelvis (he had spent an inordinate amount of time tasting her here, reveling in the softness of her skin and breathing in the scent of her arousal). The backs of her knees (she was losing her mind by then). The curve of her ankles (there was something so strong yet fragile about this part of her body).

By the time he had finished thoroughly exploring her, she was trembling from his skilful ministrations. He had gone out of his way to avoid her lips, her breasts, and her aching pussy, and she had not insisted, knowing good things came to those who waited. She was anticipating him, his steady hands and measured actions belying the torrent of passion that ran beneath.

When he finally brought his throbbing cock to penetrate her drenched pussy, it was tantalising - all heavy breathing, full body tingles, sensual sighs, and slow and gentle rocking. He had entered her in agonisingly deliberate, shallow strokes, thrusting unrushed mid-way, before dragging out and pushing in his rigid length all along her quivering walls until their bodies were flush against each other.

He had repeated this slow, punishing rhythm _over_ and _over_ and _over_ again, with what could only be a test of his restraint and steely resolve not to crash against her, hard and fast, in order to seek the ultimate relief. Unlike the last (or first) three times, there was no dirty talk, no roughness, no need to own the other. Their desperation was different this time - it was hushed, reverential and _so fucking beautiful_ that there was a feeling that ripped right through her chest, swelled at her throat, and she had felt tears springing in her eyes.

“It’s real for me too,” she professed before she kissed him deeply and bit his lip, tasting iron against her tongue, not wanting to forget this moment where she fell irreversibly in love with him. Not wanting him to forget _every kiss_ she would ever give him _in every beautiful place_ so that he would never go back to them without tasting her like blood in his mouth.

He rested his forehead against hers, whispering her name like a prayer, wiping the tears that rolled down her cheeks with his thumbs, telling her _he loved her, that he had loved her from the very beginning, that he would always love her_ , as they rocked and thrusted into each other unhurried in the build up towards their inevitable climax. When they came together at last, after the ebb and flow of their gentle lovemaking, she whispered the words that she had said so many times to him before, but had never meant _more_ than she did just then.

“I know,” he had murmured, as he still laid inside her pulsing heat, eyes focused right into the depth of her, his lips turned up into a small smile, and fuck if it didn’t light up her whole world. “That’s why I took the chance.”

And that’s when she knew, that he would bleed for her too.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Waves *hi*! How did I do? 
> 
> Come yell at me on Twitter @lapetitemort20 (that’s right, I’m no longer Anonymous bishes)


	3. Death By Almost Kissing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A prequel to Chapter 1.
> 
> Or how our favourite ice dancers finally got together to have insane mind-blowing sex.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going for angst in this one, but turns out I really like to write smut. I want to make people cry with my fics but I’ll settle for making them come. 
> 
> Thank you to @ExcuseMeMsTessa and @echoesofstardust for their wonderful feedback. 
> 
> This is for the Old Ladies Club x

She loves this lift. It’s a simple one - where she jumps in the air while skating backwards to face him, welcomed by his tender grasp and strong hands on her naked back. It’s one they’ve done many times before, in different variations. She loves it not because it’s understated, but because it’s a micro-portrait of their intimate connection. 

His intensity matched by her hope. Fiery, yet soft; sultry, yet pure, in equal measures.

But today, it feels highly charged. More so than usual, and that’s saying a lot. Even though it’s only a practice run, their foreheads press close against each other’s, his nose wedged against hers, his eyes locked on her mouth. She gives out a breathless “Hi”, and he answers with a lick of his lips.

So close, yet so far.

He nudges his nose against hers imperceptibly, inclining his open mouth towards hers. It’s an infinitesimal movement, but she feels the seductive power and erotic pull of it. It’s cold in the rink yet her body reacts like lightning. It’s as much a thermal explosion within, as it is a corporeal response without, made plain by a surge of goosebumps unfurling across her body.

He must feel it. There’s no way he doesn’t, the way they read each other intrinsically. But by the same token, what exactly are the signals she’s receiving? She refuses to take the bait, if that’s what it is - _but fuck if she doesn’t want to_ \- and carries on. 

They do this. The hints. The push/pull, what-ifs, almosts, and hypotheticals. But that’s as far as they ever take it. They chalk it down to the story they’re telling and leave it at that, because crossing the boundaries off ice could only lead to unmitigated disaster.

This train of thought throws off her focus and she nicks herself carelessly on her skate while they’re doing a particularly intricate lift. She hisses. It’s not too deep, but it’s already bleeding and it’ll probably leave a tiny scar.

He sets her down quickly to check on her. “Did I hurt you?”

She shakes her head, flicking her hand as if to get rid of the sting. 

“I must have rushed the rotation. I’m sorry my timing was off.”

“No, no, it’s my fault, I wasn’t concentrating,” she counters hurriedly.

“Let me have a look,” he offers, as he takes a hold of her injured hand. Stroking the inside of her wrist, he gently turns it around to examine the wound. There’s a small cut grazing the tip of her middle finger, but it’s nothing a first aid kit can’t handle. Whatever blood seeping out has already slowed, as a single drop leaches down her finger.

It happens in slow motion and he can hardly control himself. Before he knows what he’s doing, he’s already bending his head towards her finger, as if to kiss it.

 _Don’t_. She shakes her head slightly, her eyes widening.

He cocks his head in question. _What?_

“Don’t,” she breathes out.

 _Why not?_ He lifts an eyebrow in challenge, there’s something dangerous dancing in his eyes. Then he does dip his mouth to her hand, his eyes watching her, hers tracking him warily in return.

But instead of the light kiss she’s expecting, his warm mouth engulfs her finger and he suckles it with a maddening gentleness, swirling his tongue up, drawing out whatever blood might still have been blooming from the cut.

Her eyes squeeze shut and all oxygen leaves her lungs. She feels a little drunk at the suction of his mouth tight against her finger, his wet tongue snaking across her skin.

 _Because I won’t want you to stop_ , she thinks unsteadily, feeling a rush of wetness pool in between her legs. _What is he playing at?_

He’s been extra attentive since they started their prep for the fall’s tour season, but a month in and something feels off. She should be able to put her finger on it in an instant like she used to, but of course they’ve spent so much time apart in the year and a half since their comeback win that she feels like sometimes she doesn’t know him anymore. At least not all of him.

She gets it. And she’d made peace with that, despite the hurt. He doesn’t belong to her anymore.

Except for the fact that _he does_. He always has.

It’s easier to reconcile herself to it when she isn’t around him. When they put distance between each other. Sometimes people too.

Yet - _and hell if she can explain it_ \- how does she not belong to him, and him to her when they move like that across the ice? When the very touch of his hands awaken a recklessness within her? When their eyes meet, her virescent green to his amber brown, with multiple layers of subtext and years of words unspoken?

She doesn’t even realise it but she’s making a soft guttural sound, with his lips still around her finger. Her eyes fly open and she pulls her hand away as if she’s been singed. _What the fuck is she doing?_  

There’s a flicker of confusion - _or is it arousal?_ \- that crosses his face for a millisecond, then it’s gone. They both pretend this sexually-charged moment didn’t just occur, and she rushes off to find some antiseptic cream and dig out a plaster from her bag before they begin another section of their routine.

It’s almost as if they’ve both been playing an amorous version of chicken over the course of their years together. Except, instead of stepping on the gas, _come what may_ , one of them always swerves at the very last minute in order to save the other. Is _that_ what they’re doing? Saving each other? Because it sure as hell doesn’t feel like it.

Maybe what they’re really doing is saving themselves from reality. Maybe protecting this ideal - one that feels too sublime, bigger than the two of them, or anything they’d ever dreamed of, Olympic glory included - keeping it carefully wrapped and preserved from the reality of soul-crushing breakups and the bitter, splintered pieces of their broken hearts, is worth the risk to keep everything they’d ever worked so hard to achieve from falling apart.

 

***

 

He hits his head against his steering wheel, which lets out the sound of the car horn, causing it to echo loudly in the parking garage of his apartment building. _Damn it_. Why does this have to be so fucking complicated? He knows how he feels about her - it’s why he broke up with his girlfriend in the end, it’s why he breaks up with every girlfriend to be honest. 

How does he tell her how much he’s struggling? That in the aftermath of yet another failed relationship, it’s _her_ , it’s _always_ been her, he wants to turn to? How does he make sure she knows that he wants her, not because _he’s alone_ , but that he’s alone because _he wants her_ , has _always_ wanted her?

He’s been privy to the gamut of emotions that run beneath her cool exterior when it comes to all things else, save for him. But that little animalistic moan which came out of her mouth earlier was unmistakable, and it hasn’t been the first. He wonders what other noises she might yet sound out with his mouth elsewhere upon her body.

Thinking about it now makes him hard. He’s going to have to take care of that fast, he expects, as he palms his rigid length through his jeans.

What makes it all the more titillating is that despite the obvious physical gravitational pull between them, it’s not merely sexual. In truth, they’re already partners in everything else.

He’s got to know if she wants him too, but he doesn’t want to scare her off. As it stands, he took a chance, and she’d shut it down so fast he nearly got whiplash.

Still, he’s not the only one left reeling from their earlier interaction. Unsure of how to process her visceral reaction to his erotic teasing, she finds refuge in a hot bubble bath that she’s drawn as soon as she got home.

It was nothing. _Just modus operandi in a day in the life of Virtue Moir_ , she thinks bitterly. He still has a girlfriend. He always does. And yet, she can’t resist moving her hands slowly down to her yearning cunt, imagining they were his. How else would he use his mouth on her, she dared to fantasise.

She slides her fingers over her clit in short strokes, pressing down, and rubbing it in circular motions. Her breath quickens and she feels a flush in her cheeks and tops of her breasts that doesn’t come from the warm bath water. 

If he were here now, what would he do? Would he push her halfway out of the tub, using the edge to rest her ass, while he hooks her legs over his shoulders and proceed to explore her wet and aching centre with his ambrosial mouth? Would he swirl his tongue up and down and across her folds, suck on her clit without mercy, his face glistening in her juices, preparing to plunge his thick fingers deep into her pussy the way she so desperately needs him to? Would he finger fuck her fast or slow? Hard or gentle, she wants to know.

She slides her own fingers into her core - not the side that was cut - and she’s surprised at the slick ease in which they enter, she’s soaked just at the thought of him. But it’s not enough, _never enough_. She grabs the shower head and turns on the water to full pressure and positions it over her ravenous slit.

She knows she has her vibrator waiting for her in the drawer of her bedside table, and _god knows_ she’s used it often enough in his name, but her need at this moment is immediate and urgent. She might combust with desire and frustration if she doesn’t get herself off right now, so unbearable is the tension in her body.

The water pressure thrums and vibrates against her clit as she imagines him pounding into her. Would he sink into her hard, and pump his cock back and forth, again and again, speeding up, then slowing down, teasing her?

Would he crash his lips to hers, work her mouth hungrily, then bite her breasts and nipples, coaxing them into hard little nubs? Would he ride her every step of the way, give her no quarter, driving his cock _hard, fast, deep_ into her until she gasps and groans in quivering pleasure, her hands clutching and guiding his ass, while he collides into her, pummelling her tender spot repeatedly? 

Would he growl with lust if she tells him to _fuck me harder, baby_ before biting his shoulder, her nails digging into his back, his balls slapping against her, his hands grabbing fistfuls of her ass, only to spank her sharply across her milky white skin - _once, twice, thrice, more_ \- as punishment for making him wait so long, before losing all restraint as she revels in the torment of it and meets him thrust for thrust?

 _Fuck_ , she wants that so much. To abandon all her need for control, and let him use her as he sees fit.

She’s writhing in the bath by now, the water splashing around her, her head falling back against the tub, her eyelids slammed shut, and she’s moaning his name as it echoes back to her in the acoustic hollowness of the bathroom, shuddering in powerful, intoxicating waves against her fingers and the shower head.

Her heart rate is still racing when she manages to peel herself from the bathtub, her floor wet from the water that has sloshed out. She crawls into bed, hair still dripping, and she reaches for her vibrator so she can coax out another mind-blowing release as she imagines him touching himself for her.

What she doesn’t know is that at the exact same moment, he’s spilling himself in his hands picturing her on her knees, taking him whole in her pliant mouth as he fucks into her throat, with one hand grasping the back of her head and the other with his thumb at the dip between her collarbones, in a headlong rush to meet his destiny.

 

***

 

In the weeks after that day, he backs off to give her space. He _needs_ her to take the lead. The countdown to the shows is ticking and within a week they’ll be starting their tour. It’s possibly _not_ the best time to get stuck into this mess. But then again, that’s all they know.

They’re still them though. Their practices are searing with heat and passion, and truth be told, it’s like Carmen all over again, her stalking him at every turn. _Is she calling his bluff?_  

There’s a cast party to celebrate, and it’s fun and rowdy, their friends and colleagues letting off steam after all the hard work they’ve put into creating something special. It’s exciting and inspiring. She can’t wait to share it with their fans and supporters of the sport.

She’s so buoyed by the evening and the future that she has a little too much to drink; not too much to make her sick, but enough to be too buzzed to drive home. As ever, he’s at the ready to take care of her; he had a beer early on but he stopped early too, having learnt his lesson from his post-Sochi crash.

He walks her up to her apartment after their car ride blasting old school hip hop tunes, her bopping along and attempting to rap. He loves her like this. Tipsy Tessa. Happy Tessa. Unguarded Tessa.

He pulls her in for a hug, _their hug_ , as he presses his lips to her temple in a motion to bid her goodnight and breathes in her scent. She smells like the tart mix of gin and tonic, mingled with her signature vanilla and tuberose perfume. 

She pulls away once their breathing syncs up. Emboldened by the alcohol in her blood, it’s her turn to seize her chance. “What is this?” she gestures between them, taking a deep breath in and exhaling a hint of steel in her voice.

The gloves are off and she’s not playing. _Good_. Finally they can have an honest conversation about this back and forth that’s been driving him crazy for years. “Us. It’s always been us.”

“No, seriously,” she touches his chest with one hand.

“What do you want it to be?” He asks genuinely, searching her face.

“Don’t give me that. Why are you playing with me when you’re in a relationship?” She chides.

“It’s over.” He chews his lip. _And I’m not playing._

 _That’s convenient_. “When?”

“Six months ago,” he looks her straight in the eyes. His gaze is unflinching.

“Oh.” _Why didn’t he say something?_ There is a significance to this, it explains everything.

“I wasn’t sure if you wanted to know. Or if it would make a difference.”

 _It might have_. “What is this?” She asks again, her tone gentler.

“It can be whatever you want it to be,” he drags his thumb across her lower lip. 

“But that’s not enough for you, is it?” She challenges lightly.

 _You’re enough for me_. “I want what you want, Tess. I want you in whatever capacity. If you’ll have me-”

She’s not sure where this is going but she’s so exhausted by the energy it consumes to fight the inevitable and continue pretending. The way they keep loving and hurting each other. The way she keeps denying herself unknown pleasure and the chance to feel desired. The way they cling to the periphery of each other’s lives rather than make each other their center, so fearful to have it implode like a black hole, absorbing all matter in its wake.

Even if it’s purely physical, she knows it could never be better with anyone else than him, so she takes a leap, twisting her hand in his shirt, tugging him in towards her and interrupts, “Shut up and kiss me already, Moir.”

But he doesn’t. Not yet. He lifts his hands up to cup her face, fingers tangling into her hair, his eyes dropping to her lips. He draws his mouth close, his breath feverish against hers. He skims lightly against her mouth whilst his nose nudges hers and changes his angle to nip at her mouth. She nips back and the electricity between them crackles and escalates.

 _Death by almost kissing_ , her obituary should read. They haven’t even kissed (then again, who’s counting) and already her body is laid to waste.

She knows he’s waiting for her to do the honours.

But she’s had enough of _fucking waiting_ , so she stands on her tip toes, wraps her arms around his neck possessively, to close the sliver of a gap that’s kept them apart since forever, finally capturing his mouth fiercely with her own. 

She’s dreamt of this moment for far too long, it’s everything she can do to savour it. The feel of his mouth against hers, how he tastes faintly of beer and more of mint, the virile scent of him overwhelming all of her senses. His lips are yielding under the ministrations of her own, and when he finally lets her tongue slip through to touch his, she knows she can never turn back.

It’s a sigh, a swoon, a _revelation_. And it’s everything she’s ever wanted.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Validate me with comments! 
> 
> Or come yell at me at @lapetitemort20 on Twitter x
> 
> P/S The lift in question is the Jack and Diane one, also used in LTR, 21 Summer, What’s Love, Diamonds, and so many other programs.


	4. Always Fire With You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happily ever after, with a little kink along the way...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is my love letter to Scott. I know how some of you aren't feeling great about him right now, but I still love (and am happy for) him, and I will keep writing him as I see in my mind and as I believe him to be IRL.
> 
> I originally conceived this fic as a one-shot, then a 3 + 1 things, and as my first ever fanfic, I wanted to stretch my style in each chapter eg smut, emo, angst, fluff...but as it turns out, I have a thing for smut. 
> 
> Thank you so much to @ExcuseMeMsTessa for being my constant supporter and unbelievable beta, @RookandPawn1 for her invaluable addition and all of you who have followed this story despite (or because of) the kink. Your comments have made me doubt myself less and be brave enough to write what has been rattling inside my brain for far too long.
> 
> This is for the OLC who is a shining light and the better part of my days x

 

Their love isn’t small. Their love blows his heart wide open. And the more he loves her, the more she reveals just how much she can love him back.

It’s funny how for all the years of standing on the precipice of love, looking right into its eyes, that they really knew very little about it. What he thought was love - and it was - seems merely a shadow compared to what he holds in his hands and heart now. He hasn’t known fulfilment like this - brilliant, and all-encompassing. Not when they bled for gold the first time. Not even when it dripped around their necks the second. 

Thinking back on their angst-filled years, he wonders how foolish they’d been. How fearful and confused. Knowing what they do now, he understands -with the weight of certainty, a peaceful serenity - the truth of what Mike Babcock had told them once. That the scariest thing in life is that you can truly have everything you want. 

Everything. And she is. _His_.

Not in a possessive way. Not in a way that demanded a sense of belonging or loyalty that was selfish, controlling, doubtful and insecure, but in a way that felt complete and full of grace.

She’d always been his everything. But now, so much more, in a way that he had not thought possible. Now that fear has been taken out of the equation, there is nothing left save for the sublime promise of possibility. The world is literally theirs for the taking.

It takes his breath away. _She_ takes his breath away. 

He looks over to her sleeping figure, a tangle of limbs, dark messy hair and skin so soft and sprinkled with freckles, begging to be touched. Which he does often, almost as frequently and needful as she does him. 

Much like he watched her grow in poise and boldness while they were growing up, her reserve and diffidence melting away to match his uninhibited charisma and ebullient charm, so too does he discover her body now blossoming beneath his sensual hands and tactile generosity. He had always taken pleasure in the flair of presenting her to the world, showing her off in the best light whenever he twirled her at the end of their programmes. But in their latest iteration, he savours in revealing her not to any other, but to himself one caress at a time, and better than that, unveiling the very nucleus of her being to her own self, one she didn’t even fathom before.

After a lifetime of touching, he’d thought that there was nothing left to discover but he couldn’t have been more mistaken. He hadn’t needed to seek new landscapes - new others - as he had done so often, all he ever had to do was look with new eyes. She was there, _they_ were there, underneath all those layers. As much as they’d been building up those walls, they’d also been stripping them down - in a paradoxical way. 

By the same token, there almost seems to be a reversal of roles between them; her stepping up to be confident and assertive, him drawing inwards to become more reflective and thoughtful. Not many know this side of him. It’s one that is hinted at many times in their past interviews and their book, but isn’t dug into deep enough to reveal his depths. This profundity, this vastness, is for her and her alone, and how she cherishes it. 

“Go back to sleep,” her voice calls out croakily, as she shifts to face him, her hand flopping onto her face. 

A smile tugs on his lips. He should have known she was awake.  

“I can’t,” he whispers, snaking his arm between her waist and the mattress, pulling her close. They’re flush now, skin on skin, the heat of his body countering the cool goosebumps spreading across her torso, arms and legs. _Does it ever stop? This wanting?_ He hopes not.

“I’m the one who’s supposed to be so restless, remember?” She teases, as she runs her hands through his hair, stroking the curve of his ear. “Or so you've read.”

“Well right now it’s me,” he pushes against her, letting her feel exactly what woke him up.

She swallows a needy sound, “Again? I don’t know if I have it in me for another round, Moir,” as her fingers run circles and dance down his muscular back. He was insatiable, not that she was complaining, but they’d already made love all night long - in the shower until the water ran cold, then again when he carried her boneless body into her bedroom where he had made her come twice more, once eating her out, and then again fucking her slowly and exquisitely for what seemed like hours. 

“Yes you do. You’re a three-time Olympian. You could skate circles around me for days and still not be exhausted. 

“I won’t argue with you there. I actually have,” she laughs quietly in the dark. 

“Wha-?” He pretends to be insulted and slaps her playfully on her tempting ass, before grabbing a fistful in both his hands.

“Oh daddy, do that again…” she moans, exaggerating her voice to sound like a dirty porn star.

“Daddy, huh?” He tries on the word for size. He won’t lie, on top of the bliss he feels, he’s super turned on. Their physical intimacy has always been extremely tactile, and while the sex - even months after they crossed every line they had ever drawn - has been all levels of passionate, this was something they hadn’t explored much of. Yet. 

She nods, her cheeks colouring with heat that he can’t see, and tucks her face between his shoulder and neck, feeling a little embarrassed. She doesn’t know why. They’ve already been so open with each other since that first time, when he took her desperately and hungrily despite her bleeding.

“Do you like that?” His voice drops a little lower and rough, his mouth finding hers in long-drawn out kiss, his tongue exploring softly but firm. 

She never wants to be fake with him. Can’t. Not anymore, and not now, especially. The air has gone out of her lungs and any somnolence she felt earlier is banished from her body. She only feels an overwhelming ache that tugs at her core.“Yes…” her voice just as low and quiet. She draws a deep breath, and tells him what she’s always wanted to say but kept secret for so long. “I always have. Every time you did that when we skated, it drove me insane.”

They’re still learning so much about each other. It’s surprising yet welcome all at once. It means that even after 21 years, there are still things that can make him look at her in wonder. He strokes her hair and curls his fingers around a thick strand of her hair near the base of her neck. He tugs softly, then twice brusquely in quick succession, “You like this too, don’t you?”

She whimpers in reply. 

“Tell me what you want, baby. What you need.”

She rubs her body against his, feeling heady and incredulous that she’s dripping with want despite their earlier performance.“I want you to take control. I want to be good for you. I need ...” and then she climbs onto his lap to show him instead.  

He pushes up his body up with an arm behind him so that his back is leaning against the headboard of the bed. She’s wrapping her legs around his waist and grinding down on him purposely slow and exaggerated. She leans back, her eyes closed, arms encircling his neck as she tosses her hair behind her, using the movement to spiral her gyrating body over him. “I need you,” she murmurs.  

He’s not even inside her yet and already he’s feeling dizzy, breathless and hard as hell. The anticipation is so tangible, so delicious. No matter how many times they’ve done this (and they’ve done it _a lot_ ), it still feels like the first time each time he enters her. He loves her like this, taking charge, but also needing him to take over, wanting to relinquish control. What she’s asked him is no small feat. It means so much that she trusts him implicitly. He knows that she always has, skating-wise, but this was different. He wants to be worthy of her, he never wants to let her down. But _this_? He’s not sure if it’s right. He doesn’t want to demean or humiliate her, worse yet, hurt her. Everything he’s ever done was so she would know how much he adores her.

She senses his hesitation and she kisses him deeply, her eyes dark and intense. “Please, baby. It’s ok, it’s safe. You could never hurt me.” 

He nods in assent and circles the hand that’s cupped at the base of her neck down to the dip at her throat between her collarbones and sweeps it across her shoulder, then down her arm. He’s gentle but the pressure he exerts when he uses both his arms to fold hers behind her back is commanding. He lays a kiss at the column of her throat and growls before he sucks a mark into her pulse point. He feels her flood a rush of wetness onto him as he ruts into her, his cock straining absurdly against her softness and heat. She’s grunting into his mouth, trying to kiss him, but he keeps them apart with his arms still trapping her. 

“I think we need a safe word, if you want this baby.” He hasn’t done this before, but he’s pretty sure they need to establish some guidelines. He doesn’t want to harm her, or go further than what she’s ready to do. In all fairness, every red-blooded male fantasises about impact play but few really do respect the rules of engagement. 

“‘Ice’ for stop,” she gasps. “‘Fire’ to continue.”

_How long has she been thinking about this_ , he wonders. “And what if you want it harder, hmmm?” He sounds out deep and guttural in his throat. “Do you think ‘gold’ is appropriate?”

“Yes,” she breathes, too excited to think. She might pass out from the suspense. 

His hand goes up to her hair and tugs it abruptly. She sucks in a sharp breath.“Yes, what?”

_Fuck yes,_ the game is on. He may not have done this before but she knows he’s taking on his responsibility of being her dominant very seriously. “Yes, daddy,” she mewls. 

A surge of lust crashes over him and he wants her so desperately, _needs_ to plunge his hard cock into her sweet, waiting cunt. “Turn around,” he commands, trying to keep his voice controlled. He wants her on all fours first, so he can see her beautiful ass.  

She obeys immediately. It’s stunning how much she wants to submit to him. The meticulous, always in control woman that he knows, the one who never leaves anything up to chance, is laying it all down for him, willing him to control her, even now. It makes him feel so grateful. So trusted and so loved. He wants to give that all back to her, ten-fold, a hundred-fold, because of everything she has given him, _is_ giving him, and because that’s what she deserves and more.

He leans forward while she positions herself in a cat/cow position on the bed. _God, she’s gorgeous_. Even in this dim light he can’t help but admire how the beautiful grooves along her spine meet her slim waist, fanning out to her strong buttocks, which he will be spanking really soon. He knows she can’t wait, and if his own arousal is any indication, he can’t either. But for right now, he’s already stroking and massaging his length expertly. 

He sidles up behind her, dragging his hard cock along the back of her trembling legs, rubbing it against both the cheeks of her ass, and finally teasing outside her very wet opening. He hears her moan with want as she pushes back against him and it’s all he can do to stop himself from entering her right now. 

“Did I tell you you could make a sound, baby?” He asks, as he runs his hands up and down the back of her thighs, just beneath her ass cheeks. He grabs a fistful of flesh and massages her there, warming her up to his touch. 

She shakes her head, a muffled sound coming out of her mouth.  

“This is your first and only warning, I _will_ punish you if you don’t listen. Now lean down with your arms in front of you and don’t move,” he whispers darkly into her ear, helping her into place.  

“Yes, sir,” she breathes out shakily. _Sir_? Oh, he likes this too. 

“Good girl, do you remember your safe words?” His tone is gentle. She repeats them back to him and once he’s satisfied, he begins. 

He pulls his hands up the flesh of her calves, thighs and the crest of her bottom, teasing her, kneading her and undulating his fingers where they meet her skin. He doesn’t know how he is conscious of the way to touch her, but he instinctively starts off light. With the flat of his palm, he lands the first two blows on the centre of her right butt. He feels her breath hitch. “How does that feel, baby?”

“Gold,” she moans. 

He caresses her skin and bends down to kiss her back. He’s not going to last if she keeps this up. He spreads his fingers wide and places his palm on her ass. She wants it harder? Well, what Tessa wants, Tessa gets. He lands a quick succession of blows - this time on the left cheek - he counts ten, spanking her in an upward direction, leaving her ass quivering delicately in the aftershocks. She can’t help but groan in the pleasure of her pain.  

“You’re misbehaving, baby. No noises, remember? I’m going to have to punish you.” He doesn’t give her time to recover, when he’s alternating slaps between both her cheeks, landing his palm upon the curve of her ass, then just below where the crest of her buttock meets her thighs. He grasps on to her flesh greedily, and just to make sure she doesn’t anticipate what’s coming, he caresses her ever so lightly, spreading the stinging sensation around. Her skin feels warm to his touch, and he flicks his wrist again to rain down another series of throbbing slaps on her ass.  

She’s breathing so raggedly, before he realises that his breathing is as irregular as hers. He runs his fingers up her back lightly, reaching for her shoulders tenderly as he instructs her to regulate her breaths. He takes a deep breath with her, the way they do before they skate, kissing her neck and finds her mouth sweetly. 

“Fire or ice, my love?” He whispers into her mouth as she hungrily devours his lips and tongue.  

“Fire, always fire, with you,” she almost sobs out, although she’s unsure how much more she can take. He’s taken to this kink like a duck to water, and she knows, just like her, this is entirely another way they can push their bodies to the limits. 

He had hesitated before, but now he’s all in. He trusts she will let him know if it’s too much. So he slides his hand down to her drenched mound, letting his fingers stroke her wet folds, whilst his other hand rubs lightly on her ass again. Before she knows it, he’s working her ass with his palm once more, but the stinging sensation is heightened all the more with his fingers against her clit. Every slap he strikes causes her body to push back uncontrollably into his pelvis and slam her pussy down on his fingers. He’s giving her just enough pain to flavour the pleasure but it’s almost unbearable. Every spank he delivers is pushing her closer to the edge, and she wants, no, _needs_ , his cock in her right this moment - she’s shaking so hard.  

“Ice,” she cries out, pleading. “Ice...I can’t...” 

He’s already slamming himself into her, one hand winding around her hair and tugging, as he fucks her into the bed with a desperation that surprises him. He wants her, he’s _always_ wanted her, and he can’t believe how he gets to have her, in the best way, the most intimate and profound way. She’s pushing herself against him, fucking him back, giving as good as she’s getting, feeling him as solid as steel inside her. But it doesn’t take long for either of them to climax, and when they do, it’s in a cacophony of cries, moans, and sobs. 

“Shhhh…shhh, baby, I’m here. I’m right here…” he sweeps her into his arms, cradling her like a child the moment she stops trembling from her powerful orgasm. He kisses her where the tears are falling, understanding how overwhelmed with emotions she is. “I love you T, you were so good. You _are_ so so so good.” It makes her body wrack with sobs even more, not from the pain, but from the emotional dam that has broken inside of her. All the years of keeping every little feeling in check, it had to have gone somewhere, and here it is…overflowing in torrents out of her body, her mouth, her eyes, her core, without filter - simply pure, unadulterated love.  

He continues to caress her, to fondle her softly, kissing her gently everywhere but the places she had asked him to spank her, telling her _how much he loves her_ and _how good she is for him_ , hyper aware of his responsibility to bring her back down to earth. He runs her a hot bath not long after, and sponges her gently as she slowly returns to her body, and to him.

Afterwards, he’s curled up behind her, the big spoon to her little spoon, whilst he runs his fingers through her damp hair. It’s almost light outside, and magic hour is on its way. Lying next to her, he tells her all the things he wants to do with her, how he sees their future, and everything in between. Her eyes are half closed, and she’s taking it all in, drowsy but fulfilled with the sound of his voice and their dreams.  

“You know, I think we would have made a beautiful baby tonight, if you weren’t already knocked up,” he cracks, but he's also half serious.  

She snorts elegantly, sleep already clouding her mind. He’s right, of course. The way they came together this night would have been worthy of telling their child how he or she was made in love. Except, that would be true for all the times they've ever made love, particularly that moment 10 weeks ago. She hadn’t realised she was pregnant because she had bled lightly, but it turned out to be implantation bleeding. She didn’t know how she knew, especially since she hadn’t put on any weight or had any morning sickness. Perhaps it was because she thought she was late, or simply because she had felt it in her bones. The home pregnancy test she took the day before was positive, and when she had gone to the doctor earlier this morning, he had told her how far along she was. 

When she shared her own little secret with Scott, the look in his eyes was everything she expected and wished for. It was the look he had always given her - the one that was full of love, yearning and admiration. But this time, it was _more_ …his eyes were filled with tears and wonder; wonder at how they ended up here despite the odds, wonder at how beautiful and strong she was, wonder at how he could truly have everything he wanted in life.  

She has bled for him, heart and soul, and her body too, but now within her, lay a seed that came from the blood of them both, and that’s more than he ever hoped he could have. 

 

~ FIN ~

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you found this a fitting end to the fic. Let me know what you thought and all your fave parts in the comments or come yell at me on Twitter at @lapetitemort20 x


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